My Time

Germantown, NY, April 2003

Constant effort is never enough. Before I belie the “Why try?” alibi, muscle in with a sincere motivation, an issue of belief and purpose, a confidence, a fortitude in forgetfulness, a dog repeatedly out-burrowing the same skunk.

You huff and puff on, old foe, against this guttering flame protected by cupped hands going numb from the cold.

I want a unique seed pod. I want a private lily pad. I’ll marry a man made of a pumpkin with a carriage to match.

The necessity of bowing to pre-existing process might be a lapse in imagination, but I cannot will the flowers to grow when wonder is in such short supply.

MEX, May 2006

Thank God for common purpose, for crutches and shortcuts, for professionally crafted ancestral foundations, for deep footprints pacing ahead, for the cut and paste.

My time may not arrive before I die. This is my time.